Republic of China era: Actor? Please call me Martial Arts Master!

Chapter 173 The Truth Revealed in the Noodles with Soybean Paste

The cold snap in Beiping was managed to be endured thanks to the tens of thousands of kilograms of flour and fine coal brought by the Huo family's merchant ships.

The snow on Qianmen Street has melted, revealing the bluish-gray stone pavement.

The puddles on the street, dried by the early spring sun, emitted a pungent, earthy smell mixed with snail manure and coal smoke.

It doesn't smell good, but it has a lively feel to it.

The plaque inscribed with "The Light of Chinese Martial Arts" still hangs crookedly at the entrance of the Lu residence, but now, this plaque carries more weight in the hearts of the people than the dragon throne in the Hall of Supreme Harmony in the Forbidden City.

Street corners and alleys, teahouses and taverns.

The storyteller struck his gavel and began telling tales of "Master Lu giving away his fortune to save the whole city."

When people have enough to eat, they feel at ease.

But the martial arts world in Beijing was like a hornet's nest in a turmoil, with undercurrents surging.

"Preaching at the Temple of Heaven, spreading secret teachings throughout the world?"

These eight words are like a sharp, boning knife, piercing the hearts of those low-level boxers who rely on "ancestral skills" for a living.

The martial arts world is divided into different ranks.

Grandmasters like Shang Yunxiang, Liu Wenhua, and Gong Yu are figures who stand on the clouds.

Having established their own school of thought, their disciples and followers were all wealthy and powerful, naturally possessing a broad-mindedness that encompassed the world, and they also strongly supported Lu Cheng in breaking down sectarian barriers.

But beneath this pyramid are hundreds and thousands of people in the hutongs and under the overpasses of Beijing, making a living by teaching a few rudimentary skills.

Or perhaps they are low-level boxers who have inherited one or two farming skills from their ancestors and are barely making a living.

These days, prices are skyrocketing.

A pound of pork costs two cents, and a bag of flour costs two silver dollars.

They would only earn one or two silver dollars a month for each apprentice they took on, barely enough to cover their household expenses.

"The law should not be passed on to six ears," and "It is better to take it to the grave than to give it to outsiders."

This is their last line of defense to keep their jobs.

Now, Lu Cheng wants to "preach" and reveal all the true knowledge of various schools and sects, teaching it to the whole world for free.

This is tantamount to picking up their rice bowl and smashing it to pieces with a "crack"!

It was nearing noon that day.

Several uninvited guests arrived outside the heavy black lacquered gate of the Lu residence.

There were five or six old men in total, all over fifty years old, with the oldest looking to be almost seventy.

They wore faded gray cloth gowns with frayed cuffs, and their round-toed cloth shoes were covered in mud.

Although they all tried their best to straighten their backs and adopt the posture of martial arts practitioners, their sunken eye sockets and sallow complexions could not hide the poverty and desolation that life had squeezed out of them.

"Tongzhou Sanhuang Paochui, Wang Tieshan".

"Li Dayou of the South City Chuojiao Gate."

"Tianqiao Liuhe Mantis, Sun————"

Several old men stood at the bottom of the steps and bowed to the gatekeeper, Old Zhang.

"Please inform Master Lu that we, a few old men, represent 132 small martial arts schools in Beiping City, and have come to seek an explanation from Master Lu!"

When Old Zhang saw this, his heart skipped a beat.

Although he didn't know martial arts, he had worked in this gatehouse for half his life and had seen all sorts of people.

These old men, though they looked down on themselves, had a fierce determination in their eyes, like a rabbit biting when cornered.

They've been driven to a dead end.

Old Zhang didn't dare to delay and quickly ran into the backyard.

In the backyard, spring sunshine was bright.

Lu Cheng was lying on the bamboo rocking chair, holding a yellowed copy of the "Shengping Bureau Opera Archives" in his hand, wearing only a moon-white single garment.

Sunlight filtered through the branches of the old locust tree, dappling him. His exquisite mind illuminated the emptiness of the five aggregates, and he seemed to merge with the spring scenery in the courtyard, exuding a detached air that was almost like the "Tao."

Not far away, Shunzi and Lu Feng were instructing their newly accepted apprentices on basic skills.

"Sir, someone has come from outside."

Old Zhang leaned closer, lowered his voice, and explained the situation at the door.

"They look hostile, like they're here to cause trouble. Should we have Master Shun take a few of his men and deal with them?"

"Nonsense."

Before Lu Cheng could speak, Shunzi, who was stretching his legs, perked up his ears.

Upon hearing that someone was causing trouble, this towering man immediately came over carrying a white waxwood pole.

"Master, those old fogies outside are shameless."

"We just distributed so much food to save their lives, and now they're coming to cause trouble? I'll go and chase them away right now!"

"stop."

Lu Cheng didn't even lift his eyelids, his gaze still fixed on the script, only his voice deepened slightly.

Shunzi immediately froze on the spot, as if he had been frozen in place.

"Shunzi, what have I taught you?"

Lu Cheng slowly closed the book and sat up straight.

"We practice martial arts, but our fists are not for hitting our own people."

"Are they here to cause trouble?"

Lu Cheng looked towards the gate, his eyes, which could see through everything under the [Fiery Eyes], seemed to pierce through the courtyard walls and see the old boxers shivering in the cold wind.

"They're here to protect their own jobs."

"I have elderly parents and young children at home, crying for food. If you were in that situation, and someone was about to smash your livelihood, wouldn't you be anxious?"

""

Shunzi scratched his head, his face turning bright red, and fell silent.

"Go, open the gate."

Lu Cheng stood up and dusted off his sleeves.

"Please invite these elderly gentlemen in politely."

"Once you're here, you're a guest."

Before long, five or six old boxers were led into the main hall by Shunzi.

Upon entering this spacious and bright hall, which was filled with the faint scent of sandalwood, one could see the sandalwood furniture and the golden plaque with the inscription "Martial Saint of a Hundred Generations" hanging on the wall.

These old men, who usually taught boxing in the dilapidated alley, suddenly felt a little lost, unsure of what to do with their hands and feet.

Although they harbored resentment, they were no match for this Grandmaster of Internal Energy who feared not even foreign warships and could instantly kill a Japanese swordsman—

The teacher's inherent hierarchical structure still made them unconsciously feel inferior.

"Greetings, Master Lu."

The old men awkwardly clasped their hands in a fist salute, their faces stiff.

Lu Cheng had already changed into a proper gray-blue robe and was standing in the hall waiting.

Instead of sitting in the main seat and putting on airs, he strode forward and held the elbows of Wang Tieshan, who was in the lead, with both hands.

"Please, esteemed elders, have a seat."

Lu Cheng's tone was gentle and refined, without the slightest hint of condescension, just like that of an ordinary junior.

This left the veteran boxers, who had prepared a torrent of indignant words, feeling as if they had punched cotton, their prepared words stuck in their throats.

The guests and hosts took their seats.

Shunzi deftly served the freshly brewed jasmine tea. This tea wasn't particularly expensive, but its rich aroma made it stand out. It was a favorite among old Beijingers, a type of "gaomo" (a type of local tea) that exuded authenticity and warmth.

"I am well aware of the significance of the presence of these distinguished guests today."

Lu Cheng didn't beat around the bush; he picked up his teacup and gently blew on the floating leaves.

"Is it for preaching at the Temple of Heaven and making public the martial arts manuals of various schools?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the main hall froze.

Old man Wang Tieshan put down his teacup. His hands, which had been used for years to practice cannonball fighting, had large joints and were covered with bluish-purple calluses.

He took a deep breath, and tears welled up in his cloudy old eyes.

"Master Lu, you are a god standing at the highest point of the martial arts world. You have great righteousness and a heart that embraces the world. We old folks admire you."

"But----"

Old Wang's voice trembled as he suddenly stood up.

"You're taking away the livelihoods of us poor, working-class folks!"

"We old bones don't have the talent to reach the level of mastery, nor the fortune to have any extraordinary encounters."

"In our whole lives, we've relied on those few tricks passed down from our ancestors to perform on the streets, taking on a few apprentices to earn a few pennies."

"You're going to make all of this public now, and the streets will be full of boxing manuals and internal energy cultivation methods."

"Then who will still come to our martial arts school to learn boxing? Who will still pay the tuition fee?"

Li Dayou, the guy from the "Chuojiaomen" (a derogatory term for a man who works at a martial arts school), also stood up and wiped away his tears.

"Master Lu, I have a blind old mother at home, and three children who are begging for food. A few days ago you showed your kindness by distributing porridge and grain, and we are grateful for your kindness, but—how will we survive from now on?"

"You're making ordinary people stand up for themselves, but you're cutting off the livelihood of us old boxers!"

The older men became increasingly distressed as they talked.

The sadness and helplessness in his voice made Lu Feng and Xiao Douzi, who were standing at the door, lower their heads.

They all came from humble backgrounds and knew best what it felt like to be driven to desperation for a few coins to survive.

Lu Cheng listened quietly.

He neither interrupted nor refuted.

They didn't resort to grand principles like "national righteousness" or "the rise and fall of martial arts" to intimidate people.

With his "exquisite mind," he could see the five aggregates and the fear in the hearts of these old people. It was a fear of the unknown and an instinctive struggle for survival.

After the old men finished speaking and had vented their emotions, they finally finished.

Lu Cheng slowly put down his teacup.

"Gurgle————"

Just then, an extremely rich aroma of soy sauce wafted from the direction of the kitchen in the backyard.

That flavor was so overpowering.

It's the aroma of pork belly rendered from its fat, mixed with the fragrance of Liubiju premium yellow soybean paste sizzling and exploding in hot oil, along with the spiciness of scallions and ginger, and a faint hint of spices.

The aroma wafts straight into your nostrils, instantly arousing your most primal appetite.

Several veteran boxers, who were still filled with grief and indignation, smelled this aroma and their stomachs started growling in unison.

The protests.

They hadn't eaten or drunk anything all morning in order to get an explanation from Lu Cheng, and now, smelling the authentic aroma of old Beijing fried sauce noodles, their throats were practically reaching out to grab food.

His face immediately turned bright red with embarrassment.

Lu Cheng seemed not to hear the embarrassing rumbling of his stomach. He smiled slightly and stood up.

"Seniors, even such a momentous matter needs to be discussed after we've had a full meal."

"It's cold outside, and the wind is strong. I asked the kitchen to prepare some simple food."

"How about we eat and chat?"

Before the old men could refuse...

"Coming right up—!"

Old Liu, the cook, came in with several apprentice cooks carrying large trays.

There were no delicacies on the tray.

A large, coarse porcelain bowl is placed in front of one person.

In the bowl is freshly cooked "Guo Tiao'er" hand-pulled noodles, the noodles are translucent and chewy, steaming hot.

In the middle is a large spoonful of fried sauce, dark red and shiny, with distinct meat chunks.

Around it, eight kinds of "dishes" were neatly arranged.

Shredded radish, shredded cucumber, blanched bean sprouts, soybeans, finely shredded cabbage, minced green garlic, and minced celery.

The most amazing thing is that each person also has a few cloves of clean, white, purple-skinned single-clove garlic in their hand.

This is the most authentic and meticulous "Old Beijing Fried Sauce Noodles".

"Please, everyone, don't be shy."

Lu Cheng was the first to pick up his bowl and use his chopsticks to mix the fried sauce and toppings with the noodles, making an enticing slurping sound.

"This fried sauce is made with diced pork belly that is 30% fat and 70% lean. It is simmered over low heat for an hour to bring out the full flavor of the sauce into the meat."

"Try it."

Wang Tieshan and the other old men stared at the bowl of glistening, tempting fried noodles in front of them, their Adam's apples bobbing wildly.

Faced with the instinct for survival, all notions of face and resentment are temporarily cast aside.

"Then—then this old man will presume to take the liberty."

The old men stopped being so particular, picked up their large bowls and chopsticks, and started slurping their food down in big mouthfuls.

"Slurp—slurp"

Authentic hand-pulled noodles are chewy and springy, with a rich savory sauce that explodes on the tongue, paired with refreshing side dishes to cut through the richness.

Take another bite of that pungent, purple-skinned single-clove garlic, and "crunch!"

The spiciness and savory aroma collided in my mouth, causing me to break out in a sweat, which forcefully dispelled most of the coldness and frustration that had been building up in my chest.

"call"

Before long, several large bowls were emptied, and even the sauce at the bottom of the bowls was scraped clean by the old men with noodles.

When you're full and have food in your stomach, you feel more at ease.

The old men put down their bowls, wiped the sweat from their foreheads, and then realized that their eating manners had been unseemly, and they immediately felt a little uneasy.

"Master Lu, this noodle dish is truly authentic. You've gone to great lengths to prepare it."

Lu Cheng finished his noodles, then slowly wiped his mouth with a handkerchief and rinsed his mouth with his teacup.

He watched the old boxers eating with great satisfaction.

"Does this noodle smell good?" Lu Cheng asked.

"It smells good, really good." Li Dayou nodded honestly.

"This way of eating noodles used to come from the palace. Ordinary people couldn't afford such elaborate side dishes and yellow soybean paste."

"Later, this practice spread to the general public."

"Everyone can finally eat. This noodle-making skill has not only not been lost, but has become better and better, becoming an indispensable part of the everyday life in our city of Beijing."

"7

Lu Cheng raised his head and looked directly at Wang Tieshan and the others.

"Several seniors believe that my preaching at the Temple of Heaven is taking away your livelihood."

"Have you ever considered that your so-called 'iron rice bowl' has already been smashed to pieces by someone else?"

The veteran boxers were taken aback, not understanding what was going on.

"What do you mean?"

Lu Cheng stood up, walked to the entrance of the main hall, and pointed to the world outside that had just been ravaged by war.

"Foreigners' powerful ships and cannons, Japanese ronin's chemical poisons, and those comprador warlords who fawned over foreigners."

"They've already smashed the rice bowl of Chinese martial arts!"

"You cling to those few tattered boxing manuals, adhering to the rule of 'passing it down only to men, not women,' thinking you can make a living by teaching a few apprentices."

"But once the country is destroyed and the people of this land can no longer even save their own lives, who will have the mind to learn your boxing style?"

"If the skin is gone, where will the hair attach?"

Lu Cheng's voice gradually rose in pitch.

"Do you think that by revealing the secret manuals of various schools, I'm cutting off your escape route?"

"Completely wrong."

Lu Cheng suddenly turned around and walked to the octagonal table.

"I'm making these things public to teach everyone how to melt down a broken iron rice bowl!"

"The reason why foreign guns and cannons are so powerful is that they are mass-produced and can be used by anyone."

"If we want our traditional martial arts to avoid being eliminated by the times, we can no longer treat it as a kind of metaphysics that only a few people can access."

""

"Only when all the people in the world understand martial arts and become physically strong can we achieve this."

"Only when everyone on this land of China is like a dragon."

"By then, the entire population will be martial."

Lu Cheng smiled slightly as he looked at the old boxers who were so shocked that their mouths were agape.

"With more people practicing martial arts, the base number is large. Wouldn't there be fewer people who want to learn real skills and pursue advanced studies?"

"After reading the basic boxing manuals and practicing, they will naturally seek out a true master to guide them."

2

"At that time, the doors of your martial arts schools will probably be worn down by all the senior practitioners who have decades of real combat experience."

"I'm not taking away your jobs, I'm making this pie bigger for you!"

A word to wake up the dreamer!

Several veteran boxing masters, including Wang Tieshan and Li Dayou, sat blankly in their chairs.

[The Exquisite Mind] illuminates the five aggregates. Lu Cheng's words are not empty rhetoric, but a practical and incisive logic of survival.

Yes!

If everyone in the country values ​​martial arts and takes pride in practicing them.

So why would these low-level boxers have to worry about not being able to find apprentices?

Moreover, with Lu Cheng, the "Living Martial Saint," taking the lead, the status of Chinese martial arts will be elevated to an unprecedented level, and the social status of these martial arts instructors will also rise accordingly.

"This—this—"

Wang Tieshan trembled all over, so excited that he could barely hold the teacup in his hand.

Looking at Lu Cheng's young yet unfathomably wise face, he suddenly realized how ridiculous and narrow-minded he had been for haggling over a few copper coins.

"Master Lu————"

Wang Tieshan took a deep breath, straightened his faded clothes, and then, under the surprised gazes of Shunzi and Lu Feng.

The nearly seventy-year-old boxer actually knelt down and kowtowed deeply to Lu Cheng.

Immediately afterwards, Li Dayou, Old Man Sun, and several other veteran boxers also knelt down in unison.

"I'm senile, I deserve to die."

"Master Lu's magnanimity and strategy are so profound that we old folks have judged him with such petty minds. We are truly ashamed before our ancestors."

"Seniors, please rise."

Lu Cheng quickly stepped forward and helped the elderly people up with both hands.

"As I just said, once you're here, you're a guest. We're all from the same martial arts lineage, so this isn't the custom."

Wang Tieshan wiped away his tears.

"Master Lu, I'm not saying anything more. This old man has figured out what this bowl of noodles with soybean paste is all about."

"Preaching at the Temple of Heaven is a meritorious deed that will last for generations. Although we old folks may not be very capable, we do have a few fragmented copies of books passed down from our ancestors."

"We're not leaving!"

Wang Tieshan turned to look at his other old buddies and said loudly.

"Master Lu is going to organize all the boxing manuals in the world into their own schools. What a huge project that is! And the disciples of the Qingyun Troupe still have to rehearse."

"We old folks may not have much else, but we can still read and understand the principles of martial arts."

"From today onwards, we'll stay at the Lu residence and assist Grandmaster Lu, helping him proofread the boxing manuals and organize the internal cultivation techniques!"

"Yes, we're not leaving. We'll help Master Lu proofread the boxing manual."

Several old men echoed in unison, their blood boiling again in their withered chests.

The low-level boxer who originally came to cause trouble had a bowl of noodles with soybean paste and was persuaded by Lu Cheng's words to stay and work as a laborer.

Standing at the door, Lu Feng and Xiao Douzi looked at each other, their admiration for their master flowing like a mighty river.

This is the true skill of a master!

Subduing the enemy without fighting, turning enemies into friends with a bowl of noodles.

The next few days.

The study in the Lu residence was brightly lit.

Several veteran boxing masters, wearing reading glasses and holding brushes, under Lu Cheng's guidance, sorted, proofread, and annotated piles of yellowed and tattered boxing manuals.

With the help of these "living encyclopedias," and Lu Cheng's comprehensive understanding of [Linglong Xin], a book combining form and meaning was created.

A monumental book containing the essential principles of Bajiquan, Taijiquan, Baguaquan, and various folk martial arts.

"The True Explanation of Chinese Martial Arts" is taking shape at an astonishing speed.

At this time.

The day before the preaching ceremony at the Temple of Heaven.

Only three days left.

Outside, the snow that brought a cold snap in early spring has finally stopped.

"You ask me, what if it rains? Hehe, let me ask you—"

-

Lu Cheng asked Zhou Daikui, "Is it likely to rain today?"